Lois Greiman (12 page)

T
atiana grabbed the stick and screamed in terror or rage or some emotion so feral she couldn’t guess at. But he kept coming, careening into the staff. It struck him full in the chest, and for a moment she thought it would remain there, but it did not. It clattered to the floor. Still, he staggered back, clutching his wound. His knife wobbled and fell to the floor, but he straightened with a growl, pulled a pistol from his trousers, and fired.

Agony struck her chest. She staggered away. But he was after her.

She screamed as she felt the sweep of his hand past her shoulder.

“Cotton!”

He pivoted wildly toward the sound of his name. She turned in unison, panting hard.

A woman stood there. She was tall and slim and as regal as any queen.

“You will leave my house now,” she said.

He snarled a chuckle. “I don’t think so, old witch.”

She smiled, and in the flickering glow of the candlelight, her face looked perfectly serene. “Then be prepared to suffer the consequences.” He cursed, but his eyes darted right and left as if searching for hidden demons.

Still, he drew himself up and shook his head. “I ain’t afraid of you, you crazy old crone.”

“Perhaps that is because you are brave. But I rather suspect it is because you’re a fool. For as you said, I am a witch,” she said, and dramatically raised one hand.

Cotton crouched. His face contorted, then he snarled something and pivoted away. Still holding his wound, he stumbled past her and out of the house.

Tatiana stood like one possessed, waiting to wake from the nightmare, for surely it was a dream. Surely. But the throbbing pain seemed hopelessly real, though her head was spinning wildly, twirling the floor away from her feet.

“Gem.” The old woman’s voice seemed to come from far away, down a long tunnel perhaps. “Put her on the bed, lass.”

“Ned.”

“Hurry now.”

They were the last words she heard for some time.

Tatiana’s head still felt light when she awoke, but the pain in her shoulder had been reduced to a dull pulsation. She lay in silence, letting memories swirl around her.

“So you are the infamous Megs.”

She opened her eyes. The old woman sat on a three-legged stool beside the bed. Pulled back in a tight knot at the back of her head, her hair was as silver as moonlight. Her eyes were nearly the same hue, and her face pale.

“What time is it?”

“I find it strange,” said the other slowly, “that when people awake their first concern is the time of day.”

Tatiana studied the woman’s face. It was virtually un
lined, and yet it showed age as surely as hers showed youth.

“As if they may have missed something so ultimately important that they dare not remain asleep another instant.” She smiled. Ned, Gem had called her. Memories were flittering erratically back into Tatiana’s hazy brain. Aunt Ned, an old woman in an ancient house. “What is it you had to wake up for, lass?” She spoke softly, and yet there was strength in her tone.

Cotton—

The memory of her attacker screamed into Tatiana’s consciousness, and she flinched.

“All is well.” The old woman touched her hand. “He is gone. You will heal.”

Tatiana glanced at her shoulder. It was bandaged in a grayish cloth.

“He shot me.” She was still surprised. Surely this could not have happened to her. She was Princess Tatiana Octavia Linnet Rocheneau. Untouchable.

“Yes.” The old woman nodded soberly. “But I was able to remove the bullet without undue trauma,” she said. Her hand was gentle upon Tatiana’s knuckles. “And you are young.” Her expression was wistful and wan. “You will heal well.”

“You tended me yourself?”

Ned smiled. Fatigue stretched the expression tight. “I have learned to do much for myself in the past few years,” she said, and in a moment she drew away and rose to her feet. She faltered a little, then steadied herself on the wall before moving on.

Tatiana winced as she tried to sit up. Pain burned like hell through her shoulder. She ignored it as best she could. “You are Gem’s aunt?”

“I am everyone’s aunt.” The old woman didn’t turn from where she squatted by the crumbling hearth, but poured a measure of broth into a metal bowl and straightened slowly. “Here then, lass, drink this.”

It smelled strongly of onions and some spice she couldn’t quite name. “What is it?” she asked.

The old woman’s eyes shone, as if smiling was too tiring, but she couldn’t hold back the expression entirely. “I do not work at cross-purposes, girl.”

Tatiana took the bowl, scowling her question.

“There would be little reason to remove the bullet if I meant to poison you the very next day, lass.”

“Poison me!”

“Is there some reason one might wish to poison you?” The old woman watched her closely for a moment, then nodded. “You can trust me, my lady. Drink—”

“My lady!” Tatiana remained frozen on the bed, her heart thumping in her chest. “I am not nobly bred.”

Ned watched her solemnly, then smiled a little. “Very well then, lass, what would you have me call you?”

“My name is…” she began, but the old woman’s eyes bored into her, making her pause. “Gem calls me Megs.”

“Very well. Megs it is, but I warn you, lass, once you begin down this path ’tis difficult to make your way back.”

Tatiana opened her mouth to argue, but Ned interrupted.

“Drink your broth now. You will need your strength.”

She did as commanded, using her left hand to hold it and barely managing to prop it up with her right. The soup was all but tasteless. She lowered the bowl, but the old woman was watching.

“All of it,” she ordered.

Tatiana did as told. “Who are you?” she asked.

“You must rest now.”

“Why did you take me in?”

She looked mildly surprised and a little amused. “I didn’t take you in, lass. You came in on your own.”

“You could have thrown me out.”

“I must look terribly strong.”

“I mean—”

“I know what you mean. Sleep now,” said the old woman, and, turning her back, left Tatiana alone with her questions.

“Eat it.” Gem’s voice woke Tatiana, though it was quiet enough.

The old woman’s voice was no louder. “Your friend will need sustenance in order to regain her strength.” The room was dark, with only a shadow of light seeping through the one unbroken window.

“Megs?” The girl laughed, and even in the dimming light, Tatiana could see her offer the loaf once more. “You needn’t worry about ’er.”

“You did.”

“Me?” Gem shoved the bread into the old woman’s hands and rose jerkily to her feet. “Not ’ardly.”

“Then why did you bring her here?”

“She’s Megs,” Gem said, turning back abruptly. “Magical Megs. Think o’ what she can teach me.”

The room was silent for a moment, then, “To steal.”

“Aye, just that.”

“As you stole this bread.”

“Listen, old gammer,” Gem said, her voice hard, “I don’t ’ave t’ come round ’ere, y’ know.”

“No you don’t.”

“So you want me to leave you t’ starve t’ death?”

“I won’t starve to death. I have work yet to do.”

“Slavin’ for the rich folk?”

“That,” Ned said, “and making sure you are safe. Making sure you are happy.”

“’Appy! You think I’d be ’appy bound to that balding crock o’ shit what wants to bed me?”

“I’ll have no cursing in this house, Gem, and marriage is
not bondage. At least it is not if you are with the right man.”

“Well ’e ain’t the right man, and I’ll do as I please,” insisted the girl, and pivoted away, but she stopped at the door. Her knuckles looked pale and sharp against the wood. “I didn’t steal the bread,” she said, and hurried outside.

The old woman held her back straight for a moment longer, then dropped carefully into a tattered chair. Old age descended with her, graying her features and dulling her eyes. But perhaps it was not just years that dimmed her.

Tatiana stirred. “Are you ill?”

“Ahh.” The old woman smiled, but the expression was weak. “So you’re awake. Good. ’Tis time to eat,” she said, and rose unsteadily to her feet.

Taking an oaken board from beside the hearth, she set the loaf atop it. It was small and dark and sprinkled with rolled oats.

Swinging a metal arm from the smoldering embers of the fire, she wrapped her hand in a rag and retrieved a hanging kettle. In a moment she had poured tea into an earthenware mug and was bearing the board to her patient’s bedside.

“You’re feeling better?” It was more a statement than a question.

Tatiana nodded, and Ned settled herself carefully upon the mattress before placing the tray beside her.

“I’ll have a look at that wound,” she said.

Tatiana considered arguing, but the old woman was already slipping the gown from her shoulder and loosening the bandage. Her expression was somber as she eased the cloth away, but finally she tied it back up with a nod.

“You’re stronger than you look, lass.”

“Why did you take me in?”

“As I said before—”

“Do you plan to betray me to MacTavish?”

The old woman showed some surprise for the first time. “He is the lord of this isle.”

She dropped her gaze. “He accused me of crimes I did not commit.”

“So you are not a thief, Megs?”

Tatiana raised her eyes to find the other’s sharp upon her face. She pursed her lips. “I did not do what he said I did.”

Aunt Ned made no comment, but seemed to delve into Tatiana’s mind. “No, you did not,” she said. “But you may yet if you do not go back to him.”

“Go back—He would have me executed.”

“There are worse things than death, lass.”

“If there are, I’ve no wish to do those things either.”

The old woman smiled wanly. “Perhaps you have underestimated him. Perhaps your original assessment of him was correct.”

Tatiana’s mind was reeling. “Who are you?”

For a moment she thought she would receive an answer, but finally Ned sighed and rounded her frail shoulders.

“I am who I always was, though people see me differently now.”

And what did that mean? “I owe you much, madam,” Tatiana said finally. “I but wonder why you have taken it upon yourself to help me.”

“Because you need help.”

“And do you help all who need it?”

“When I can.”

“But not Cotton?”

“He has not asked.”

“Or you would?”

She didn’t answer directly, but gave her a shallow shrug. “Perhaps that is why he thinks me crazy.”

Tatiana studied her for a moment. “Evil cannot comprehend goodness.”

The old woman watched her with silver-bright eyes. “You are wise for one so young,” she said, and nodded slowly. “You will be good for him.”

“For whom?” Tatiana asked, but the old woman had turned away.

“Eat now.”

“Will you turn me in?” Tatiana asked.

Ned glanced at her from the fireplace. “How badly does he want you back, lass? Will he offer a reward?”

“What?” The idea took her by surprise.

The old woman shrugged. “Portshaven is not London, lass, but it is goodly sized. He’s not likely to find you here even if he dares come to the south side. But if he offers a reward…” Her gaze was sharp. “You would be surprised what people will do when they are hungry.”

Tatiana raised her chin. “I have been hungry.”

“Have you?”

“Of course.”

“Then perhaps you are not such an accomplished thief as Gemma believes.”

There seemed no way to avoid this woman’s eyes, no way to avoid the truth. Reaching out, Tatiana tugged the blanket aside.

“You’re not mended enough to leave.”

“As you said, I am stronger than I look.”

“But not strong enough to overcome Cotton.”

Tatiana stopped where she was. Fear congealed like pig jelly in her stomach.

“Or a thousand others of his ilk,” Aunt Ned added. “Eat.”

She eyed the loaf. It was as dark as the bread they fed the carriage horses in Sedonia. But it smelled heavenly, making her mouth ache at the sight of it. She lifted it in her hand, then glanced at her hostess. The old woman’s cheeks were hollow, her complexion gray. Guilt tightened Tatiana’s stomach.

But she did as she was told.

“Megs.” The voice was neither hushed nor loud. “’Tis time to be off.”

Tatiana awoke with a start, then shielded her eyes with the back of her hand. A single taper glowed not ten inches from her bedside. Gem’s face looked taut and intense in the light of it.

“Be off?” She scowled. Suspicion soured her gut. “Where?”

“There be a cockfight over t’ the slaughter’ouse.”

“Cockfight?” The world had gone mad. She sat up with an effort.

“I knows it ain’t your usual fare and all, but my belly ain’t gettin’ no fuller. Thought you might be able to teach me a bit of sleight o’ hand.”

Tatiana’s heart sped up a notch. It didn’t seem wise to present her true identity, for this Gem might be just the person to turn her over to MacTavish if a reward was offered. “Where’s Aunt Ned?” she asked, hedging carefully.

Gem’s expression softened the slightest amount, but in a moment it was hard again. “She ain’t got ’ome from work yet.”

“Work?”

“Mendin’. Stitchery. That sort o’ thing.”

“She’s a seamstress?”

“Some say she’s a duchess.”

“What?”

Gem shrugged. “It don’t matter. She’s a stubborn old bat won’t take what I brings ’er.” The momentary expression of tenderness brightened her face again, then blankness. “But that ain’t for the likes of us, aye? Not when there be pockets what need pickin’.”

Tatiana scowled, trying to look dismayed. It wasn’t difficult. “I’m afraid I’m not going to be up to my customary standards.”

“Up to your customary standards.” Gem chuckled. “You could always talk pretty when you wanted to, aye? But no, you’ll ’ave t’ take some time to loosen up. Tonight you can give me pointers and act as decoy.”

Decoy! Her throat felt dry. She tried to think of an excuse, a lie, a protest, but in that moment her stomach rumbled.

Gem chuckled. “Come on,” she said, and, retrieving a much-mended gown from a nearby peg, tossed it onto the bed. “Get dressed. We don’t want to miss the wagerin’.”